Summer, thou art fair

So I've been gone several days. I'm about to be gone several more. It's not so good for keeping the blog current, but I like being out and about.

This is the second summer since leaving the full-time professional world, and last summer I was still too stunned to take full advantage of the freedom. I won't make that mistake again. No, siree, Bob. For the first time in a long time (since college I suppose), summer feels like summer: get-togethers, swimming, family, old friends, late nights, tans, grilling. The smell of PABA.

Deeeeeep inhale. Ahhhhhhh.

I spent this past weekend with my brother. He's 25, charming, incorrigible, an outdoorsman. And hunt. That boy (sorry -- man) loves to hunt the way birds love to sing, balls bounce, flips flop.

Friday night we sat across a table discussing his future. (Hey, he brought it up.) Sam works as the ranch hand on a 1,000-acre Hill Country spread. He's out bailing hay, worming cattle, repairing fence, digging tanks. Your basic "Lonesome Dove" without the prostitute or untimely death.

He loves it. "I'm happy," he told me. "I'm not stressed. And if I get hungry, I go shoot a hog and I'm full as a tick for a week."

Saturday evening, he asked if I wanted to get on a four-wheeler and see the land. Still being a tomboy at heart, I readily agreed, and we set out -- he with his sweet girlfriend behind him and me enjoying my own ride. (That was for the best, since I have a bit of a wild streak in me. Don't tell my mom. Or my kids.)

We zoomed down tree-flanked trails, across open pastures, along the cold-running water of the Guadalupe. He showed me some of his hunting spots, the tank he recently dug in anticipation of a time when this blasted drought finally ends. Khara and I worried about the beautiful white-faced calf standing apart from the herd. I zoomed across the crest of a hill, barely stopping in time to avoid a deep rut that would have flung me over the handlebars. Disaster avoided, I could only laugh.

As the sun set, it was all so beautiful. I thought of my children, who along with Roy spent the same day with their grandparents on a lake. I missed them, but knew they too were receiving the gifts of the season.

Summer at its best is, I think, a taste of heaven. I'm sure there will be work for us to do there. And plenty of joyful praising: all those things the Bible tells us about. But the spirit-fullness that comes with just sitting back and watching. Or floating. Feeling the wind push at my face. Watching the sun go down. Waking rested. Smelling warm skin. Oh, my. Those simple things speak deeply to my soul in a way that must be God-wired.

Yes, I think heaven will be a very, very fine summer.

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